The Two Sons Job
by Sunbird Riding Shotgun
Summary: Concerning old history, fathers, and the Burke Conglomerate.
1. Insomnia

**Notes: **This story follows A Long Way From Orion and is the Steal the Sky version of the Two Horse Job mashed up with The Burke Seven Job from White Collar with certain references to the Firefly timeline thrown in. Although it would probably be helpful to be at least familiar with White Collar it's not entierly necessary.

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><p><strong>The Two Sons<strong> **Job**  
><em>Insomnia<em>**  
><strong>

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><p>A drink. A glass with a heavy base. The Black opening up through the skylights in the ceiling of the conference room above him opening up in darkness and light…<p>

It was "Late", at least as far as the crew was concerned. Four in the morning. So early might have been the better term.

Other than Parker on watch in the bridge Nate was probably the only one awake on Leverage.

He took another sip and leaned back in his chair.

Time was once when there wasn't such a thing as "only one awake" on Leverage. They were once a crew of insomniacs.

No. That wasn't right.

Sophie slept a regular night like clockwork, retreating into her quarter at ten at "night" and emerging immaculate and rested nine hours later.

Dean and Sam had been used to living alone in dangerous environments where someone always needed to be aware of what their little shuttle was doing and never quite sure when one of the monsters that they hunted would invade their home. They'd spent most of their lives sleeping in shifts that came in short bursts and work aboard Leverage had done little to change that early on.

And the three former agents? A lifetime of restriction and regiments and rules had given way and early on they'd been like…

Children.

He took another drink and brushed off the thought.

Hardison had taken to what Nate eventually clocked out as a roughly thirty hour schedule. He never even saw Parker sleep until they'd been flying for a time and he caught her napping like a bat in the engine room, Dean's behavior suggesting she did that often. Eliot spent the first few weeks detoxing, his sleeping schedule chaotic at best because of it.

It all meant that early on it was as likely that there'd be a whirlwind of activity at three in the morning as there'd be at noon. At all hours of the day there'd be one or two people asleep but never even close to the majority.

But slowly things had changed.

Parker started sleeping in the crew's quarters. Eliot finished detoxing and started going to sleep at a regular time which encouraged Hardison to do so because he still had nightmares when he slept alone. Parker added sleeping at normal times to sleeping in a normal room and before long they were mostly keeping schedule with Sophie.

Sam and Dean slowly started to let their guard down, accepting on board Leverage they were as safe as they could be in the verse. Dean having Parker's help in the engine room and the entire crew taking shifts watching the bridge meant they too could eventually start to sleep through the night.

And so, a few months later, Nate found himself in the doorway to the lounge area, the ship silent but for the low hum of engines.

The others never really had insomnia. Not really. Not like him.

He took another sip and turned his gaze upwards toward the Black above.

He wasn't alone. Not really. He had booze and that Black and this calm before whatever storm was coming their way and all the things on his long list of things to brood over from the things he could to nothing about, like the death of his son (another sip, move on), to things he desperately needed to fix but had no idea how (a former agent with months before his declining health started to effect his work, another who still flinched when someone shouted, brothers who were trying to hide the fact Eliot wasn't the only one aboard the ship with powers, or major health issues, Sophie).

Sophie.

He finished the rest of his drink and went for the bottle.

It was so much harder to drink his head into silence when it was so damn quiet.

But he'd manage it, and sometime as Eliot first emerged to start his morning training while it was still quiet Nate would stumble his way down to his quarters and hope he was exhausted and drunk enough not to dream about dying children tonight.

Another drink, the burn sliding down his throat and settling in his gut and it wasn't comfort but if he spun his con just right he could convince himself it was close enough.


	2. Debts

**Notes: **This was written for the Confession in a Desperate Situation square on my hurt/comfort bingo card.

I'd like to thank everyone who's been reviewing. A few days ago I was having a really bad day and got an amazing review and it made me realize I'd gone too long without letting you all know how much I appriciate the encouragement.

Finally **WARNING:** from here on out the story will contain references to past dub and non-con as well as one chapter (Chapter Seven: My Baby Shot Me Down) with actual descriptions of both.

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><p><strong>Chapter Two: Debts<strong>

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><p>Eliot was pretty good at focusing on the present.<p>

The past didn't normally bear remembering and the future was too uncertain for considering beyond the rest of the job and the vague idea that somewhere not too far down the line he'd be able to lay his tired body down and never have to get back up.

But sometimes.

He paused halfway up the scaffolding to reach the lounge and conference area where he could feel Nate drinking himself closer to Oblivion. He wasn't there yet, wouldn't be for long enough that Eliot couldn't justify putting this off until morning. He had to do this. And he might as well do this when Nate was alone.

The mastermind would drag the story out of him. He didn't want to have to do it in front of the others.

He…

It was the past. One he left behind him eight long years ago.

"_Eliot" The voice on the wave was calling him by his first name. If it weren't for the fact he knew Mozzie would never have tried to contact him otherwise that the little con man was actually using his first name would have told him all he needed to know about the gravity of the call._

"_Mozzie." Eliot answered in a whisper, retreating into the hallway to not wake the others up. He didn't bother asking how he knew Eliot wasn't dead. Or how he got Eliot's number. The man had escaped Olympus as an eight year old. "What is it?"_

"_It's The Suit."Eliot didn't respond. He knew Mozz had a tendency for nicknames but it was going on nine years since they'd spent more than a spattering of days at a time in the same system. He hadn't met 'The Suit'. Mozz sighed. "A mutual friend with a preference for hats and fine art has run into some family problems. An old friend of yours is fighting to keep him from being pulled back into it but the puppet theatre and the gods themselves are trying to take my friend home an-"_

"_Mozz. Slow down. This line is safe." Eliot thanked Hardison mentally. "Neal's in trouble?"_

"_Yes!" Mozzie half shouted, clearly upset. "He's been looking into Kate's death and the music box and we got close enough to spook someone and Peter's under investigation." _

_Eliot resisted the urge to just say he would be there. He was officially dead and it was dangerous enough running jobs on core worlds. This had so many ways of going badly. "I've been legally dead for less than a year Mozzie, coming back would put my whole crew at risk."_

"_They're talking about stripping Peter of his Handler license." Mozzie said, softer. "Sending Neal back to Olympus." _

_Eliot knew if that happened Peter would throw what was left of his career away trying to get the boy back._

_Or if there was an official investigation…_

"_I have to run it by my Captain, see if he'll take the job."He let out a sigh. "And if he won't I'll be there as soon as I can find my own passage." He mentally checked their position. "At least where not more than a couple day's hard burn from your location."_

He'd meant it. If he had to break ties with Leverage and everyone on board he would.

He just really hoped he didn't.

He climbed the last of the scaffolding and made his way into the conference room, sitting down across the table from Nate.

"I have a job for us." Nate watched him for a long moment before nodding. "Peter Burke. An investigative agent from the White Collar Division of the DoD based off Manhattan. Eight years ago he was working to bust a large Ponzi scheme and was granted the use of an agent from Olympus. The Handler was killed in the course of the mission but it was too time sensitive to wait for a second handler to be sent. Burke acted as his agent's handler and was granted a Resident Handler's License, enabling him to maintain a field agent for his unit. Eventually his original agent, a Low Tech who'd been serving primarily as a body guard and doing some under-cover work was replaced by an agent named Neal Caffrey, an All-Tech Infiltration agent with the designations required for undercover work. They worked together for just under a year before a member of Caffrey's clan went AWOL. By rule every agent was called back to Olympus and kept there for four years of re-education. Afterwards Caffrey was sent back to Burke. They've been together for a little less than two years."

Nate didn't say anything throughout all of this, his expression unreadable. When Eliot paused, trying to think of the best way to continue, Nate asked. "Peter Burke, he's the Handler you mentioned was so good to his agent back in the first job, isn't he?"

Eliot nodded. "Yeah. Doesn't abuse him, lets him have his own home, talk to anyone he wants, do things and go places. He's still required to stay in a certain radius but it's as close to freedom as anyone on Olympus dares dream about most days." Nate nodded and took another drink. "They're close too. Hell, Peter treats Caffrey like a wayward son most days."

Something in Nate's eyes shifted, a hint of a smile, Eliot wondered what he'd given away.

"But Burke's in trouble. Caffrey's been sticking his nose where it doesn't belong and he caught the wrong sort of attention. They're trying to take Caffrey away from Burke, and other things. He could use some Leverage."

Nate put his glass down slowly and met Eliot's eyes. "What did he do?"

Eliot blinked. "Nothing. Nothing bad at least. That's the reason why I'm asking."

Nate shook his head. "No. What did Peter Burke do for you?" Eliot felt his mouth go dry, answers fighting for freedom and secrets digging deeper into his gut. "You nearly tore my head off the first time I took our crew into a core world. Now you're asking me to lead us straight into the Lion's Den. You owe Burke. Enough you're ready to endanger the crew to pay him back."

Eliot looked away, he could feel heat and sticky on his skin, hear a cry in the night ripping through his chest.

Eight years. Almost nine really. He wondered.

Eliot let out a long slow breath and laid his hands flat on the table, staring at it. "I woulda sent you all on your way the moment I thought you were at risk."

"We'll do this job," Nate said. "But first tell me why."

Eliot looked up, seeing eyes watching him steadily, so very…

"I was the Low Tech agent sent to work with Burke eight years ago," He stated, dropping his eyes to the table again. "It was my first deployment after my father found out I'd been sleeping with a girl in my clan without permission. It's a serious crime on Olympus but we were young and stupid and thought no one would care what a couple of Low-Techs got up to." He gripped the table's edge, trying to ground himself in the present. "But we got caught and they sent us to Tarturus, Olympus' detention center. By the time we got out…" He looked back up to Nate, not willing to share all the hell, not willing to speak the secrets that haunted him and Amie both, but knowing… He wouldn't hide from this much. "When I met Peter Burke I was falling. He and his wife caught me."


	3. Freefall

**Notes: **Written for the "Falling" Square on my H/c bingo card. This chapter is about how Peter and Eliot met and will likely make slightly more sense if you are at least familiar with White Collar but you should be able to sort through it without. Some **warnings** for referenced past non-con and torture along with a suicide attempt and just generally a character being in a really really bad emotional state.

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><p><strong>Freefall<strong>

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><p>He remembered when he first saw them.<p>

The transport had gotten him and his handler in to Manhattan just a few hours ago. Their bags had been sent ahead to their rooms and his handler had insisted on going straight to the meet.

His handler's name was Rucker. Spencer didn't know his first name; there was no need for him to know it. Rucker was a hardass, one of the Handlers specifically assigned agents fresh out of the hell that was Tarturus. He'd shocked Spencer to the floor within minutes of their first meeting for breaches in the levels of protocol that so few Handlers followed, even a Low Tech like Spencer didn't instinctively practice them.

Their first night aboard the transport he'd given Spencer a beating. A blow for every time he'd made eye contact with a stranger, two for every time he'd made eye contact with Rucker, and five for every word he'd spoken without express permission.

Spencer had only been conscious at the end of it because of the endurance he'd gained over the last few months. He was still trying to keep himself from moving stiffly five days later.

He learned fast at least. He wouldn't have survived this long otherwise.

He walked up to the building with his eyes down, staying one step behind and to the left of Rucker, carefully avoiding brushing into people lest Rucker get it into his head Spencer was picking pockets.

He'd never been to Manhattan before, Low-Techs like him were normally kept on Outter Rim planets. There was once a time he would have been gawking like a tourist but the sights weren't worth another beating. Even with the new medication they had him on, the life around them was so dense and loud he could hear Echos of it at the edge of his mind.

He focused on the world in front of him, pushing those Echos away. If Rucker thought he was slipping even a little he'd give Spencer another emergency dose of medication like he had the first night. He suppressed a shudder at the memory. The beating had left him weak and he'd Drifted and Rucker had injected the Booster into him before he could protest. The next hour had disappeared into this sharp edged tide of ultimate reality pressing against him.

Like Spencer needed any more reason to drown in recycled and processed-for-humans air.

An anomaly slid past him, a brush of warmth so vibrant against the backdrop of the cold focused minds around him and the forced distance of his medication it took Spencer a moment to realize the sensation was in his mind rather than the physical touch of someone next to him.

He looked up, half stumbling as he searched the crowd around him to find the source. He hadn't felt that kind of…

He caught sight of them on the far side of the entry way, a wife dropping her husband back off at work after they'd had lunch together. He let out a long unsteady breath, feeling the woman's smile as the man stated "Love you hun." Knowing he meant it as much as…

He walked into Rucker. The sudden rush of anger and determination and cold control hit him like he'd fallen into a pit of ice water and couldn't break surface.

He stumbled back eyes falling immediately to the ground, not flinching away. They were in public. He'd get another beating for this but flinching in public would just make matters worse.

Spencer waited a moment, heart pounding in his ears, world spinning around him. "Come on Spencer. Let's not keep them waiting." Rucker growled.

Spencer tried to center himself as they stepped inside the building, trying to pull himself back together like he'd been taught, but he knew it was pointless. He'd been knocked out of a Read and Dropped. The meds he was on were designed to let him do some Reading but they didn't stop him from Dropping.

Really this was what the Booster was for. For stopping the sensation that he was free-falling. To stop the world from coming at him in overwhelming blurs of light and color and emotion while his own mind tried to drag him back down into a dark made out of panting breath and hands and need and feelings he couldn't control and his own hands and…

A rough hand shoved him hard back against a wall and a second later sharp currents jolted through him, stealing a cry from his lips before he dropped to the floor. The sudden pain pulled him back to the present. "Get a hold of yourself."

They were moving. An Elevator. Alone.

Spencer pushed himself back to his feet. A hand grabbed his arm and a second later he felt the bite of a needle. He closed his eyes against the lights that would become painfully bright any moment. The smell of Rucker became almost overpowering, the rub of his loose black uniform like sandpaper against his skin.

But he hit bottom. He drew a breath in and let it out, feeling like he was actually breathing for the first time in an eternity. A calloused hand petted through his hair like he was an animal who was behaving for once.

A ding that spiked through his head and Spencer opened his eyes, forcing himself to act normally, not sure if he could entirely hide the shake in his frame but seeming to do well enough that Rucker led him out of the elevator and into the offices.

At the top of the stairs they met their contact. Shiny black shoes and well cut trousers. A hard-edged voice, but warm...

Wait. He recognized that voice. Spencer made the mistake of looking up, recognizing the man from earlier, before quickly turning his eyes back down.

"This is the agent?" the man asked, hesitation in his voice.

"Yes," Rucker answered. "He's fresh out of the academy, so he's a little nervous and still learning the rules but he'll get your job done. Boy. Introduce yourself."

Spencer looked up, meeting the man's eyes. "Eliot Spencer," he stated, forcing a smile. "Pleasure to meet you, sir."

"Special Agent Peter Burke," the man responded, not moving to shake hands - which was just as well; Spencer wasn't sure he could deal with skin to skin contact right now. "He seems harmless," he added to Rucker.

"Don't be fooled. This kid's got a body count more than twice his age. Only reason he's in the program instead of doing hard time is he was a kid when he did it and the ones he killed were bad apples."

It was a lie. He had a body count, but every single one was alliance-sanctioned.

Still the words had the effect Rucker had been going for. Burke gave him another look and Spencer could practically feel his perception change from 'baby agent' to 'killer, criminal, keep an eye on'.

The Booster had shut down his ability to Read but Spencer knew the warmth he'd felt earlier would never be sent in his direction.

He was falling again. Always. He didn't even try to stop. His whole focus was on keeping moving, keeping his face expressionless, not being noticed.

Not being hurt further.

The meeting passed by in a blur to Spencer. He didn't need to know the details, his job was simple enough. Rucker would take him to a location, Spencer would make entry and retrieve the items listed on the warrant, and get out alive.

The meeting broke up and Rucker went to follow the others out, to get coffee or something. He touched Spencer's shoulder on his way out the door and told him to stay.

The Conference room was closed off, no watching eyes. When Rucker disappeared outside the room, Spencer was mercifully alone.

He pressed himself into the back corner of the room and slid down the wall, curling around himself, letting himself shake and tremble. He wasn't Dropping anymore; not psychically.

He was still falling.

He didn't know how long he sat there; shaking, trying to just focus on each breath, just stay conscious, the world outside of his head shutting down into one long narrow tunnel that he'd never break out of.

The hand on his shoulder was jarringly real and he jolted, flinching, pressing himself farther into the corner and letting out a sound that he knew was more like a whine from a wounded animal than human.

"Hey, hey… it's okay. I'm not gonna hurt you." The words, Burke, the fear and concern shifted through the haze and Spencer opened his eyes and opened them again, seeing the man. "Alright. Stay with me. I'm gonna get your Handler in here." Panic. Terror. What Rucker would do to him… it must have shown on his face because Burke shook his head. "Alright, alright… I'm not going to get him. He's on his way back in here, though. You've got two minutes. Three at the most."

Spencer nodded, moving to push himself to his feet. A solid hand grabbed his arm, helping him up, warmth radiating through the contact and through him and he might have sobbed at the feeling if he hadn't been trying to pull it back in. Pull himself back together. He wouldn't speak. He hadn't been given permission and he didn't know what to say. He knew the words and the language but somehow it all got lost and he didn't know if he could put them together right yet.

Twenty seconds and he was composed enough to pass muster. Burke looked disturbed. "Are you…" Burke started and shook his head. "You're not. I…" He seemed to be trying to figure something out but…

What was there to figure out? It wasn't like Spencer could explain he was a dead man walking, too stubborn to just die.

That the Alliance was a monster that would always win?

Spencer could feel the warmth Burke's hand had left on his arm, already dissipating, and just…

He smiled at Burke. "Thank you," he said. "But I'll be fine soon."

He was falling but maybe he had fallen far enough past the point of no return he could just stop trying.

Burke didn't mention the incident to Rucker and soon they were off to do their jobs, Peter insisting on bringing along a shuttle for observation and backup.

**oOo**

Later the official report would say that Spencer had successfully made entry, had fought hard but been overcome and taken down. His incursion had prompted the target to send out guards to look for others like Spencer and they'd come across Rucker, who had gone down with a bullet in his brain; no warning they were coming for him.

The reports would also say that Spencer had been knocked unconscious and in their hurry to check for other attackers they hadn't taken the time for the kill shot. When the assault team that Burke had secured to assist should the mission go badly made entry they were able to recover Spencer.

Hospital reports showed that Rucker had been taking advantage of his power over Spencer and had badly abused the agent, which - the reports showed - was likely the reason the agent had been overpowered despite his previous record of successes. Blame for the loss of life and lead was placed solely on Rucker's head and the agency that had dispatched them issued an apology to Burke and his team.

Further reports would show that the loss of the lead put them in a time crunch and Burke let the agency know that despite his injuries Spencer would have to continue to function as their agent. Burke would take personal responsibility for the young man for the duration of the case.

That was what the official reports said.

Hell. Most of it was even true.

**oOo**

The official reports didn't write that Burke was the one to find Spencer in the warehouse, and that the agent hadn't been unconscious so much as utterly defeated.

The official reports wouldn't tell you that Burke saw the hospital records before word from on high came to have them classified at the highest level. That Peter Burke, a seasoned FBI agent, had stared at the file stating in cold medical terms that in the past year the young man, kid - laying in the hospital bed two feet away from him and staring at the ceiling - had been beaten, drugged, raped, and electrocuted multiple times, that there was evidence of beatings since he was a child, repeated brain surgery not following any medical procedure and…

Fifteen minutes later medical records would show the abuse was an isolated incident.

No record would ever show that Burke had gone into the bathroom and stood at the sink wondering if he was going to puke like a green agent or break something. He'd never been that kind of a violent man but there was no way he could figure that the kid was who the alliance said he was, and even if he was worse he didn't deserve a fraction of what he'd been put through.

And no report would ever show that after hours of staring at the ceiling, completely catatonic, Spencer looked toward Peter as he walked back into his hospital room and said at barely a whisper; "You came back."

"I came back," Peter responded, walking closer. He hesitated before reaching out to put his hand on Spencer's arm.

"Warm." The boy muttered, hint of a smile crossing his face before he turned away, flinching.

Peter pulled the blanket a little farther up with his other hand. "I got word from your agency. You're staying here until this case is over. I'll be keeping an eye on you while you're here."

Spencer's head turned, eyes blue like a shattered sky looking up at him, asking something in a language Peter didn't know how to interpret or respond to.

"You're safe here," Peter said. It was the only reassurance he could make right now.

But those eyes closed and that body settled and Peter let out a long breath.

And Eliot breathed one in.


	4. A Lever Long Enough

**Notes: **The ending statement/title is a loose refference to the qoute "Give me a lever long enough and a place to stand and I will turn the world". Very Leveragey

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><p><strong>A Lever Long Enough<strong>

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><p>He'd known. From the very beginning Nate had known it would come down to this.<p>

He'd given Eliot a few hours to pull his plan and briefing together, resisting the strange urge to ask if the man needed help. Of them all Eliot was probably the least equipped to put together a briefing to present to the team. He was intelligent and his reading was getting better every night but…

Then Nate had forced himself to get some sleep (or try, his nightmares were worse than normal) and the next day had begun and they'd called the team together, not even leaving someone on the bridge.

Nate had known despite his difficulties Eliot would have a decent briefing put together, even if it was focused on images and numbers rather than the documents of Hardison's briefings. He presented his case in a calm orderly fashion, though not talking about his debt to Peter.

His plans were received like Nate had predicted.

Sophie focused on the point that Eliot was proposing going against the organization three of them were on the run from. Parker and Hardison looked plain scared arguing against it. Sam and Dean were quiet their expressions carefully neutral.

The briefing dissolved into an argument the way that Nate predicted it would. Sophie picked up on Eliot's hidden motivation. Eliot tried to play the 'respect and obey your elders' card with Parker and Hardison. It bought him a few minutes of silence from Hardison at least. Then Eliot asked Parker if she'd ever stolen an agent and she reminded him she'd stolen herself.

Things got heated and finally Nate gave a low whistle, getting them all to quiet down.

"How would you do it?"

Eliot looked over a hint of gratitude in his eyes when Eliot explained. "The grounds for Caffery being taken away is Burke's being investigated for evidence tampering. As far as my source could tell me he's being framed by a criminal he and Caffery are going after who have connections in the agency that stole the evidence. We steal the evidence back and use it to clear Peter's name. Being able to connect it to the Agency agents responsible so they can't do it again would be good to."

Eliot brought up a screen with some schematics, talking about the pieces already in play and waiting for their arrival.

The others got sucked into the planning one by one, even Dean and Sam adding the insight they'd gained in their battles.

Nate couldn't help but smile a little. They were neurotic and damaged at best but sometimes their inability to leave a problem unsolved was useful.

A few minutes of planning ticked by before they circled back to how insane this was.

And, as Nate knew it would, it came down to Parker and Hardison.

To a moment of quiet.

"Caffery wants to stay with Burke." Eliot said finally. "Its as close to freedom… We got lucky. We can't rescue him but we can help him stay with a Handler who treats him like a person."

It came down to this moment right here.

Part of it, Nate knew, was that Eliot was asking. As much as Eliot tried to hide it they knew he didn't have long left and that made telling him no ever just a little bit harder.

But really?

In the months since Osiris and the start of this whole mess Nate had been learning, piecing together bits, figuring out how their lives had worked and been like.

And it all came down to the first thing they were taught as children and kept them alive until they were adults. It kept the fraying structures of clans and violent chaos of life at bay. It was such a powerful force of concept in Olympus that even brought up in almost total isolation it was engrained in Parker's behavior only a little less deeply than the others.

The children of Olympus were orphans, either through the deaths of their familys that led to them being taken or by virtue of being surrendered completely to the project. They were brought to a strange planet on a barren moon where there innocence and self-worth was systematically stripped away while their personalities and bodies were broken down and rebuilt.

And through all of that the only constant, the only thing that could be relied on, was that the agents worked and fought and lived and died together. The older agents took care of the younger agents. The fighters protected those weaker than them. The hackers kept the secrets. Those with more experience taught those with less to help them survive.

They depended on each other. It was the only way to survive.

And now they were free. These three orphans, agents.

Warriors.

Children.

They were free. By virtue of some giant con and coincidence they'd found their freedom and they were being given this chance to help one of their own still living by Olympus' rule and they…

"It's not much but…" Eliot added softly.

Hardison sighed and said something in Greek.

There was a short pause and Parker responded like she was finishing a saying eyes drifting from the table toward Eliot.

He smiled at them both, relief, gratitude, even something maybe close to hope. "Some Leverage might help."

It was dangerous, beyond dangerous, but they could do this.

There was no way they couldn't try.

Later Nate sat down with the voice recorder he kept on record around the former agents and a translator and worked through what had been said, working closer to an understanding of Greek.

With the final bit translated he sat back and smiled, the turn of the old quote and it's new meaning, the chance and hope, seeming all too appropriate for the ship.

_If we all push a little bit we can change the turn of the world. _


	5. Until Lambs Become Lions

**Notes: **Written for the suicide attempt square on my h/c bingo card. That should give you the warnings for this chapter.

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><p><strong>Until Lambs Become Lions<strong>

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><p>Sometimes, when Eliot looked back, he almost let himself believe he died on that mission.<p>

He went into the warehouse with every intention of getting killed. He'd go down in a hail of bullets and the pain would stop.

He remembered laying in the dirt, in a growing pool of his own blood, the cold soaking into him and easing him toward sleep. It wasn't a fatal injury but if he stayed there long enough, if he didn't stop the bleeding, death would come claim him eventually.

And then a light in the darkness, someone searching, hope and fear, and then there was Peter there at his side telling him to hold on, that help was coming.

He remembered looking at Peter, mouth moving to tell him this was what he wanted…

But Peter's hand was on his arm, the warmth seeping in through his skin like the first rain at the end of the dry season on his home world and Spencer suddenly could do little more than sob from relief.

Peter stayed with him until medical help came, kept that contact as they loaded him onto a gurney and took him to the hospital the calm order of Peter's mind just enough to keep the old terror at bay.

He could feel Peter's rage and horror as he read through the medical file he'd been given and the slow burning determination it became.

He had meant to die on the mission. When Peter told him he was safe there Spencer was pretty sure a part of him did.

**oOo**

Peter stayed with him until the nurses gave him something to put him to sleep. When he woke up the next day he could sense traces of the agent in the room. He'd left but he'd returned several times.

Eliot closed his eyes and focused on that sensation. Thirty six hours without his meds meant he was drifting more but he could feel Peter's presence and he could almost believe the night before hadn't been a dream.

He felt them before they arrived. The warmth and silk soft touch on his mind from the day before as they passed through the sterilized building.

Somewhere beyond his room Peter stopped and the other came through his door.

She felt soft, a trace of a smell he couldn't place drifting around her, a faint echo of a mind tucked within gentleness, a secondary rhythm, hand absently settling over her stomach as she crossed to the foot of his bed that light mixing with worry and fixing on him.

"Hello. I'm Elizabeth Burke."

**oOo**

He was on the ledge again.

It had been awhile.

Not really.

If he was honest with himself the edge was where he'd spent most of his life.

He didn't really remember the Wayne clan. The Ares project had stripped just about all of his memory from those few years after he was taken in, maybe all of his memory from the before time together. Some days he wondered if the handful of memories he had of a blistering sun and running horses and a faint hint of homemade soap he always assumed were memories of his home world were anything more than lies he'd told himself when he was grasping for some kind of comfort.

Some of the earliest things he remembers after the Ares project was how he'd get lost in the remembered worlds of those around him before they started medicating his gift into silence.

He'd been on the ledge then. He hadn't known the word for it but he'd known with every fiber of his being that he wanted the hell to end. The pain, the terror, the constant rush and fall of his gift as he was thrown from mind to mind and into the black expanse so much greater than the black above that lurked in the hearts of the men who'd turned a five year old's mind into their plaything.

He'd been pushed to that ledge over and over in the following months. Shock treatments and new medications and drugs that made the world break into tiny pieces with words and orders as sharp as shards of that glass reality cutting into his mind.

He suppressed the memory but it was there. Always there.

The Spencer clan had taken him in. They'd kept him close. Kept a watch. He'd find out later they were never told about the time he'd broken from his restraints and tried to stab himself but they'd seen it in his eyes.

He remembered her. Third Sister Spencer. She was the youngest in the clan. A year younger than him. Back before either of them had names, when he was just Fourth Brother.

Her smiles had been so bright. Her mind had been free of darkness.

Sometimes he thinks it was in her dreams that he found those memories but she was a member of a bloodline, William's daughter. She'd been born on Olympus.

She had pulled him back from that ledge.

For years and years she had always pulled him back. Even when they grew up. Even when they traveled to new worlds and fought and she began to carry the scars of beatings like his.

She always pulled him back.

**oOo**

"Amie." He whispered, stirring, feeling the heavy weight on consciousness surge into his mind. He reached for her mind out of habit, out of…

His mind brushed another. He sensed an echo heartbeat. So…

Reality crashed down around him, the last faint hints of the confused dreams his medications allowed him shifting and terror_pain _seared across his senses.

Blindly he reached out, grasping with his hands and mind for her.

"Breathe, El," a soft voice said, taking his hand.

Elizabeth Burke, his mind provided.

He was staying with his new handler, Burke.

_Peter. _His mind corrected him. The man had given him permission to use his first name and the man was more than worthy of respect.

It didn't explain why Elizabeth was watching him sleep but she'd been keeping a watch on him since he'd arrived days ago.

Calm flowed into him through the touch. By now Peter had been told about his condition and Spencer could feel that knowledge weighing on Elizabeth's mind.

"Who is she?" Elizabeth asked. "You call her name when you sleep."

_He holds himself down. Bruising. Hot breath. Claiming his mouth. His mouth claiming. He bites marks into his own skin._

"Eliot?"

He jerks at the sound of his own name. An alien sound.

He turns to look toward her, hand tightening around Elizabeth's hand, reaching for that echo-heartbeat, wondering. Wondering.

A bitter smile forms across his face and he wonders and wanders closer to the ledge. "Aime is my wife."

_Watching. Watching. Always watching. There would always be someone watching. She comforts him and tells him to watch only her. She tries to pull him closer to her. Tries to breathe comfort into him. Like always._

_Her eyes aren't bright and when she screams so does he._

He turns his head away, counting the echoed heart's beating. It's rhythm is off. Something's wrong. He should say something.

But he knows in that moment the echo is already fading. Little soul.

Little soul.

The verse was no place for a little soul.

He buries the echo down and pulls his hand from Elizabeth and wishes only for silence.

**oOo**

It was an odd place to be, that ledge.

Sure, the long road up to it was as simple as nothing left worth the fight against gravity or as complicate as anything in the verse.

But when he get to that edge, where a step forward is all that's left.

It was an odd sort of clarity.

He was tired and he was going to rest. It was his decision and his decision alone.

Finally.

And after, we he'd taken that step only to be caught…

The clarity went away, confusion between being too tired and the part of him that had fought this long and that slow burning anger flaring back one more time and the part that just ached to see Amie one last time.

But there was still an echo of clarity. Still the sense that it was just a little out of sight, waiting.

You never really left the ledge. You just learned to live there.

**oOo**

Despite the supposedly time sensitive nature of the case days passed slowly. A week would go by before Peter started bringing Eliot into the office. His wounds needed time to heal and Eliot could feel their watching eyes and he knew they were aware his intent had been to die.

That he would not let himself go back to Olympus in anything but a body bag.

But in those slow days something shifted.

He was introduced to their puppy, his first prolonged contact with a "pet", and the animal's soft simple mind was soothing.

Elizabeth refused to let him train in any way that exacerbated his injuries and was horrified to discover he didn't know what to do with himself without that fallback. She pulled him into the kitchen, insisting he outline for her what he could actually eat, and then kept him occupied by teaching him how to cook. He'd sit close by and watch and listen as she argued over the phone or worked over forms. She'd recently started a catering business.

Five days in he quieted the noise of his mind by watching and listening to her work on a seating chart. When she went to answer a call he'd slipped over, nudging around the markers, getting lost in the problem. It was all logistics really.

An hour later he'd sat back to notice her watching him with a smile. The puzzle was solved and he could feel the wonder in her own mind. The praise was silent but he could feel the warmth in his gut.

"Try this one." She handed him a file and started looking over his work. He stared at the mix of symbols that meant nothing to him, trying to figure out how to solve this puzzle of reading, to get that warmth back. "You can't read." The voice caused him to look up at her. It was a statement, not a question, with empathy but no pity in her voice."

He shook his head.

She put aside the work she'd been doing and reached for a clean data-sheet.

At nights he'd sit with Peter as he watched sports and studied the case files. Peter talked to him about the case and the sports and eventually other things. Other cases he'd worked on. The members of his team. His life on a world that wasn't quite the rim but was too pastoral for a core world before a scholarship and the agency.

Stories about Elizabeth.

Slowly Eliot started to respond. The missions he'd done. The skills he'd gained and places he'd fought. His gift.

There were other things, so many other things, that he couldn't put into words. Not yet. Not ever.

The game would end and Peter would send Eliot off to bed with a look that explicitly instructed him to not do anything stupid and Eliot would go.

He'd fall to sleep to the slow easy silk rhythm of echoes of heartbeats and the soft rain of this short time in paradise he'd been granted.

He would not allow himself to be taken back to Olympus alive, but he'd live here as long as he could.

**oOo**

He learned to live on the edge a long time before he met Peter.

It was the short stop before the fall, that moment he never saw coming, that won him a grace period.

**oOo**

It was a Sunday. Peter would be taking him back to work the next day and Spencer knew that it was only a matter of time before the case ended and he was sent home.

He was allowed to train that day. He trained hard to get back into shape but also to ensure he was as sharp a knife as he could be.

They'd be going into danger together, he and Peter. Spencer's survival didn't matter but Peter…

He would bring Peter home or die trying.

"Eliot." Peter's voice said behind him and Eliot quickened his pace, wanting to finish the practice set before the conversation, sensing the foreboding in Peter. After a moment there was a flicker of something else so brief…

He came to a stop and turned.

"You don't like to stop fighting." Peter stated, knocking Eliot off guard. He walked closer, trapping Eliot's eyes. "If you stop it's over. You lose. That's the end of it. The odds are stacked against you Eliot. But the only chance you have of winning is to keep playing until the odds change."

"Do you really think I'll ever win?" Eliot asked. "No one's ever escaped Olympus before and lived."

"Then be the first." Peter told him. "Someone has to be."

He turned and walked away and Spencer…

It wasn't an immediate change. But a hope was conceived and took root. Carried like and echo of a heartbeat inside of his chest. Something new to replace the thing that had died. Foraged and refined and shaped and crafted and someday…

In a year's time that echo would scream into life and another would pass into The Black and he'd settle down to live on that ledge and look for a chance to rise again.


	6. Across the Verse

**Notes:** Upon rereading this for the upload I've concluded it's been far too long since I wrote an acid trip sequence.

This chapter will make a *lot* more sense if you're familiar with Serenity the movie.

* * *

><p><strong>The Two Sons<strong> **Job**  
><em>Across the Verse<em>

* * *

><p>Really Eliot should have known something would happen.<p>

They'd arrived on Manhattan two days ago. He'd introduced the crew to Peter, Elizabeth, and Caffery. Mozzie had shown up later and barely waited for them to be inside before congratulating them for breaking free of the man.

Mozzie and Parker had gotten along disturbingly well. Though if Eliot really thought about it the odd friendship that had formed years ago between him and Caffery it almost made sense.

Sophie and Elizabeth had also hit it off, though that he'd at least seen coming. Just like he'd predicted Neal and Sophie turning casual flirtation into a competition and Peter barely hiding his distrust for Nate.

It was probably for the best that Sam was stuck piloting Leverage and Dean was stuck on board due to a certain warrant for his arrest still being active in Manhattan. Two less complications.

Yeah. Because that made a huge difference on a normal day.

Eliot should have seen this coming. The job was going ridiculously smoothly with all the hands on deck. Peter's team was sticking up for him as well as a collection of friends and allies gathered from the planet and beyond. What had started out as the Burke Seven had transformed into the Burke conglomerate.

He even heard Elizabeth joke about how it was a pity it wouldn't last. The crime-solving spree they could go on would be one for the history books.

He guessed with all the talent and skill involved it would be the thing no one could possibly see coming that would throw their plans off kilter.

It was after happy hour, the work was done for the day, and the majority of the Burke Conglomerate had dispersed with a handful of them heading out to a quiet and Hole-in-the-wall bar. They'd played pool and traded stories and tricks.

There'd been a game on the TV Eliot was half watching between his turns. It turned to commercials and he heard the start of a jingle.

"Fruity oaty bars make a man out of a mouse"

His breath caught in his throat and he turned to look at the screen.

_He was Serenity._

"Fruity oaty bars make monsters in your house"

_Blue light. Old men drowning in blood. "Scary monsters" He could feel his brother searching._

_Oh little souls._

_Secret echo. Dyeing Echoes. Protect the Echo. Steal the Echo. _

_Soft skin smell. Bright unfocused world. _

"_Watching all the time" _

He dropped his mind shattering across the void. He reached his fingers out to warn her, to warn them, but the verse cut into him like shards of glass ripping him into mince meat while she was only a bright burning beckon on the horizon.

Hands grabbed his shoulders and he turned, automatically grabbing the wrist and twisting. His body knew instinctively how to get the right Leverage and just enough force to wrench the arm from it's socket and break the wrist.

He turned to the next foe ducking blows and attacking with the same detached precision.

"_We're inside your mind."_

Somewhere in the space between heartbeats he heard someone call a name that didn't belong to him. Words screaming in his silent mind told him he should fall but they were caught in the blue air and held captive by the heartbeat of a distant echo.

_She was crying. He heard the silence within her and knew why. He put a hand on her shoulder and said nothing. _

_She turned to look toward him, fear in her eyes, flinching from his hand, her own settling over her stomach and he felt embers burn and clash and the faintest echo appearing. He leaned over, placing a chaste kiss to the top of her head swearing to her an oath he had no idea how he would ever fulfill._

Someone was speaking. Words flashing bright red in his mind but he had to keep fighting. It was important. He couldn't drop. Not now. Not when she was in danger. Not when he could warn them all.

He reached out through the black, through the chaos, a brush of blue cloth.

_The baby blanket was blue. The same color as his eyes. They might change. They might not. He'd never know._

_He clung on for one moment longer, unashamed of his own sobbing breaths or the tears on his face. He chose this. He needed to do this. _

_Hands took him and he let go. A voice spoke a name._

A soft hand on his cheek and he turned. The bed was soft. The lights were gentle. He could smell incense.

"_Mei mei?" Inara asked. _

_He sat up and smiled at her. "Fine." He told her. "Visiting a friend."_

"Gun them down."

He sat up hearing screams, the cuffs reminding him he was on Serenity.

_He lay down. He had to lie down. He must not become one who never laid down._

_She was curled up now. Shaking. Inara came over. He looked up at her, the gentle of her mind soothing but fading. He could feel fading flowers. _

"_River?" Simon asked, bursting into the shuttle. Inara backed away as he came closer. "River? Look at me." He pulled her hands away from her hair._

"_Hair is too long." She said. "I have ghosts in me." She cried. __"__一哥_ _is inside of me." _

"_I'm right here River." He told her. "I'm not…"_

"_I thought she was getting better." Inara said._

"_She was."_

"Eta kuram na smekh"

He turned seeing a tall young black man. He shook his head, feeling darkness sweeping across the verse toward him. He couldn't stop it. It would hit him too soon. He couldn't.

The darkness hit him. He had to warn her. He couldn't lie down. He must not lie down.

The blue was gone. The blue was gone.

Did he still have his blue eyes?

Desperately he reached forward a single word passing through his lips. "Sebastian."

He opens his eyes to find himself sitting on top of a set of skylights over a ship's dinner quarters with the Black opening above him.

His mind tells him he should be dead. The lack of pressure, the cold, the lack of air. He should be dead.

He isn't.

A sensation dances across his mind like a swish of silk and the whisper of bare feet. She appears not as he last saw her but as he could see in his mind she was meant to be. A whispy dark blue dress billowing around her, combat boots to protect her feet as she crosses the space between them and sits across from him.

She just looks at him, no words needed, and he looks back.

She understands his warning. Something happened when they met. Her frayed mind and his unstable gift and those few brief moments when he pushed through the haze of his mind to touch hers and let her know she was safe now.

He'd left a part of himself there and taken a part of her with him.

And somehow that part had caused…

She nodded. She understood. He was only offering blurred images and mixed up thoughts, his memory of the incident more hazy than the need to warn her.

Something was coming. She'd be on her guard.

He shivers, not from the cold. His focus on warning her is fading. The chaos of his mind, everything triggered and shaken loose hovering at the edge of his thoughts ready to devour him when he lost his grip and he was losing it so very quickly.

She smiles at him, laughter in her eyes, and she scoots forward to touch his forehead.

_Big brothers take so much looking after. _She tells him.

He calls her a bratty pipsqueak in Greek and _feels _her understanding.

_Close your eyes_. She tells him and he does. _Open them. _

He feels the heat of sun on his skin before his eyes open. He's sitting with her in a cargo bay of a Firefly but the walls seem impossibly far away and there's dirt beneath his feet and little plants and a fake wind and it reminds him of those vague memories of home.

She grins at him. _Come play with me._She bids him, standing and dancing away from him. _No power in the verse can catch me._

It's a challenge and Eliot rises to it.

He chases after her, running and jumping through the cargo hold and up the stairs, racing up and down catwalks and through the ship and there are ghosts that they pass by who watch River as she goes, calling out muted words Eliot doesn't understand and River calls back that the ghost isn't in her anymore.


End file.
